All Poems
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Invern
© Ezra Pound
Earth's winter cometh
And I being part of all
And sith the spirit of all moveth in me
I must needs bear earth's winter
Ione, Dead the Long Year
© Ezra Pound
Empty are the ways,
Empty are the ways of this land
And the flowers
Bend over with heavy heads.
The Jewel Stairs' Grievance
© Ezra Pound
The jewelled steps are already quite white with dew,
It is so late that the dew soaks my gauze stockings,
And I let down the crystal curtain
And watch the moon through the clear autumn.
Fan-Piece, For Her Imperial Lord
© Ezra Pound
O fan of white silk,
clear as frost on the grass-blade,
The Summons
© Ezra Pound
I can not bow to woo thee
With honey words and flower kisses
And the dew of sweet half-truths
Fallen on the grass of old quaint love-tales
Historion
© Ezra Pound
No man hath dared to write this thing as yet,
And yet I know, how that the souls of all men great
At times pass athrough us,
And we are melted into them, and are not
Lament of the Frontier Guard
© Ezra Pound
By the North Gate, the wind blows full of sand,
Lonely from the beginning of time until now!
Trees fall, the grass goes yellow with autumn.
I climb the towers and towers
The Fault of It
© Ezra Pound
Some may have blamed us that we cease to speak
Of things we spoke of in our verses early,
Saying: a lovely voice is such as such;
Saying: that lady's eyes were sad last week,
Medallion
© Ezra Pound
Luini in porcelain!
The grand piano
Utters a profane
Protest with her clear soprano.
Further Instructions
© Ezra Pound
Come, my songs, let us express our baser passions.
Let us express our envy for the man with a steady job and no worry about the future.
You are very idle, my songs,
I fear you will come to a bad end.
You stand about the streets, You loiter at the corners and bus-stops,
You do next to nothing at all.
Villanelle: The Psychological Hour
© Ezra Pound
I had over prepared the event,
that much was ominous.
With middle-ageing care
I had laid out just the right books.
I had almost turned down the pages.
These Fought in Any Case
© Ezra Pound
These fought in any case,
and some believing
pro domo, in any case .....
The Lake Isle
© Ezra Pound
O God, O Venus, O Mercury, patron of thieves,
Lend me a little tobacco-shop,
or install me in any profession
Save this damn'd profession of writing,
where one needs one's brains all the time.
Silet
© Ezra Pound
When I behold how black, immortal ink
Drips from my deathless pen - ah, well-away!
Why should we stop at all for what I think?
There is enough in what I chance to say.
Ts'ai Chi'h
© Ezra Pound
The petals fall in the fountain,
the orange-coloured rose-leaves,
Their ochre clings to the stone.
L'Art
© Ezra Pound
Green arsenic smeared on an egg-white cloth,
Crushed strawberries! Come, let us feast our eyes.
from "Hugh Selwyn Mauberly"
© Ezra Pound
For three years, out of key with his time,
He strove to resuscitate the dead art
Of poetry; to maintain "the sublime"
In the old scene.Wrong from the start--
Epilogue
© Ezra Pound
O chansons foregoing
You were a seven days' wonder.
When you came out in the magazines
You created considerable stir in Chicago,
Ezra on the Strike
© Ezra Pound
Wal, Thanksgivin' do be comin' round.
With the price of turkeys on the bound,
And coal, by gum! Thet were just found,
Is surely gettin' cheaper.
